Seeing Tomorrow

Summary: Dean Colt is the best Homicide Detective LA has seen. Being a Mind Reader means he can get the job done fast and efficient. He's 26 and life is sweet. He has a girlfriend that he loves and loves him back and he has it planned down to the wire where life will take him. He's got his sweet ride too, a '67 Chevy Impala. What Dean hasn't counted on is crashing, quite literally, into a young man named Samuel Winchester who claims he can see and talk to the dead. Things start to fall apart after that…Eventual Sam/Dean, Dean/Lisa

Rating: PG 13+

Chapter 2

His head collided hard against the steering wheel, the loud impact made him see stars all around him. Moaning as pain shot down his spine, Dean attempted to push him back up, but the heavy body on top him prevented any such movements. For all intents and purposes he was trapped under the man's weight, and he tried to push up again, only managed to lift his head for two seconds before it was forcefully pushed back into his steering wheel. The sound of his car's horn loud and deafening and Dean was barely able to get out a low, pained, "Son of a biiiitch."

It wasn't very long after that, that he felt something whiz through the air just barely over his head by his right ear. He didn't have time to wonder what was happening before he heard the earth shattering sound of the Impala's windshield breaking into dozens of little shards, felt slight stings on his neck as glass nicked his skin. He heard a loud hiss from the man covering his back with his giant body as more shards landed on them. Before he could ask what the hell was going on, the air was split in half again as two more things went whizzing over their heads.

Dean heard the heavy impact as they hit the Van in front of them. When it felt like it was all over, the air finally still and heavy, the deep pants of breath the only sounds Dean could hear in the car over his hammering heart, he carefully lifted his head to look at the damage. The man on top of him slowly let go and moved back to the backseat again, curling into a giant ball that made Dean almost laugh because it looked a little too ridiculous. Had the circumstances been different he would have. But right now he was bewildered and he wanted answers.

He leaned over and grabbed the startled man's arm. He wished like hell his heart would just calm down and go back to beating normally, but there was really nothing normal about this situation. After he had looked at the dents in the Van ahead of him he came to the only conclusion he could. They had been shot at, fucking shot at, and the only person that didn't seem all too affected by this as he should be was sitting hunched over like a little kid in the backseat of his damn Impala.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean demanded, not letting go even as the man made a desperate attempt to tug his hand back. "Start talking. Now."

The man was silent for a moment, finally stilled in his efforts to get away, his expression contemplative. Finally he sighed. "Fine. You want the truth? You're being targeted."

It sounded ridiculous at first. Who the hell would want to target Dean? He was just some guy, albeit a good detective but that was it. His doubt must have showed on his face because the man snorted and ripped his arm from his grip with a strength that didn't seem human. "That's the truth. You wanted the truth, I told you the truth. You're being targeted," the man insisted.

"Well then, if that's the case then why? And by who? And how the hell do you know?"

The man looked to the side, to the empty seat next to him, inclined his head as if he were listening to something only he could hear. He nodded once or twice, the movement subtle, a twitch of his jaw, then he looked back at Dean with a thoughtful frown. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the door and Dean understood without words what he wanted to do before he was opening the Impala's door. He reached to stop the man, to demand that he at least answer his questions first. Why was he in danger and by who and how did this guy know all this and who in hell was this jackass in the first place? As if sensing his movements, the man whipped around to direct a glare at him.

"If you want to continue living, you'll follow my lead and get the hell out of the car. It's not safe here."

Startled at the feral response, Dean leaned back before he felt his head bob up and down almost of its own accord, his hands stumbling to fumble with the car door. He managed to unclasp his belt and open the door, the cold air licking at his exposed skin. Licking at his lips, Dean looked around a bit to take in the wreckage around him. The Van had dent marks, the owner had gotten out of his vehicle to look into the damage of the bullets. Other drivers had heard the impact and were out of their own cars trying to see what all the commotion was. Dean felt his gut churn as he looked behind him, wondering if he really had been the target where the hell the shooter could have went. Or maybe he was still here. At the thought panic started to rise up through his throat.

He saw the other man on the other side, already expertly weaving pass the multitude of cars. Dean hurried to catch up with the stranger. The man spared a glance at him as they crossed the street without bringing much attention. "I've got a place set up not far from here. We can talk there. I'll answer all your questions you've got to the best of my ability."

Dean nodded unsure of what to say. He licked his lips nervously, rubbed his neck. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

The man grinned. "Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Dean Colt."

Sam laughed and patted Dean on the back good naturedly. "Oh I already know who you are, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow and pretended that didn't sound too creepy. The place that Sam had set up for them to talk to was a moldy, run down motel that Dean was glad he didn't have the misfortune to regularly stay in. He and Lisa at least had a homely apartment to live in. Sam didn't seem too disgusted by the creaky floorboards, the plain bed with stains that Dean didn't want to know where they were from, and the peeling wallpapers. In fact the man seemed content, at home, so used to this style of living Dean felt a twinge of pity.

Sam didn't look like a person who had spent most of his time living in dingy motels. He didn't dress the part, Dean realized as he took in the green hoodie and blue jeans and sneakers. He looked like a regular college student up close, someone who would be living on campus or sharing an apartment with other college kids or still living with his parents. But the way he acted now as he stretched and walked over to the queen sized bed, he looked relaxed and loose and at home. Dean shook his head as he took a seat on one of the wooden chairs, winced slightly as it creaked under his weight.

"So what do you want to know first?" Sam asked finally as he sprawled back on the bed, arms tucked comfortably under his head as he looked pointedly at Dean.

Dean thought for a moment on what he wanted to know first. He shrugged as he silently made up his mind. "Everything but, just, you know, start at the beginning."

Sam nodded like he agreed with Dean. "Yeah, OK. The beginning. We'll begin there. So you already know my name's Sam Winchester and you know that I already knew who you were before you told me." Dean nodded in confirmation, doubt and skepticism showing briefly on his face. "Well see, here's what you don't know." There was a glint in Sam's eyes that caught him off-guard. "When I said I know who you are, Dean, I mean it. I know everything about you, not just your name. I know what you are."

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting Sam to say, but that certainly wasn't one of them. Tensing, Dean decided to play dumb. "I have no idea what you're talking about, man." He began to rise from the chair. "Look, I didn't realize I just saved a crazy dude but thanks for sharing and all and I hope you feel better but I gotta go back before someone decides to take my car for a joyride." He let his words hang for a second before he made to go to the door.

But before Dean could get pass the bed, Sam had tackled him to the floor for the second time today, his body helplessly pinned by the man's weight. He struggled to get the man off him but the body wouldn't budge which annoyed Dean and made him double his struggle. The next second was a blur. Sam suddenly had Dean's arms pinned above his head, his weight crushing into his stomach as Sam shifted to straddle the detective. The only limbs free were his legs which Dean tried to use as he kicked wildly into the open air, arching up in a desperate attempt to free himself from the man above him.

"Just, will you just calm down?" Sam hissed into his ear as Dean struggled wildly to push him off. "Calm the fuck down. I'll let you go if you promise not to turn into the Hulk or something on me. OK? Deal?"

Dean felt Sam loosen his grip on his arms after a moment and he nodded, not trusting his voice yet. Finally after Sam studied his face for any traces of deception the man rolled off him to stand up. "Look I just want to talk. You can call me crazy all you want but first just at least hear me out, alright? I'm the good guy here, Dean. I'm on your side," Sam said.

The room was quiet again as Dean went back to his chair and Sam sat heavily down on the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight. "Alright," Dean relented quietly. "I'm all ears for now. Let's hear it."

Sam blew out a sigh of relief and nodded. He clasped his hands together and chewed the bottom of his lip as he regarded Dean thoughtfully. "I know you said you think I'm crazy but I don't think you actually meant it. I think you're worried that I wasn't lying when I said that I knew all about you, like your secret." Dean paled at that but Sam wasn't looking at him now. He stared off to the side for a moment and Dean traced his gaze to the wall he was looking at, wondering what was going on inside Sam's head. He tried multiple times on looking in Sam's mind but he always ran into a wall. Then suddenly Sam's head snapped back to Dean and panicking inwardly, Dean turned to look away.

"You tried it again," Sam announced loudly. Dean blinked in surprise, turned back to see hazel brown eyes stare back at him. "You're a Mind Reader, Dean, and you tried to read my mind just now, didn't you?" There was only a slight accusation in his voice.

"I have no idea what you mean," Dean hedged carefully.

"Quit playing dumb. It won't work on me. You're a Psychic. It's easy for other Psychics to see that."

"Other Psychics?"

The smile on Sam's face was bright. "Yeah. I'm Psychic too. Didn't I already tell you we're both on the same side?"

"Son of a bitch." Great. Sam was a Psychic too? He should have really seen that coming. Just what the hell was he getting himself into here?

After Sam's confession, Dean started to pay more attention to the conversation. Truth be told Dean had never met another Psychic before and while it shocked him, it also sent a little thrill down his spine. Sam's power wasn't really a power, more like an ability. He had been born able to see things normal people weren't able to see. Dead people. Fucking ghosts. Dean had to admit it was both a little cool and creepy.

"Eddy was the reason I tracked you down in the first place," Sam explained as he glanced briefly to his right. Dean guessed that was where 'Eddy' was standing, by the peeling wall. "He said you were in danger and uh, I wasn't too sure on how to approach you. You know, it'd be totally weird, if I just went up to your car and knocked on the window and said, 'Dude, I know who and what you are and your in danger so if you really value your life you'd get out of your car and follow me to my dingy motel room and oh, don't worry, I'm not crazy or anything, I'm a Psychic like you'." Dean stared at him, his jaw dropped in a gape and at least Sam had the decency to look a little sheepish, his cheeks a dark blush, his hand rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

It took a few minutes for Dean to digest what Sam had said. Finally his voice worked properly enough to say, "I think I might have thought you were a little less insane if you explained yourself there instead of purposely throwing yourself in front of my car to get my attention. Dude! What the hell were you thinking, man? You could've gotten hurt a lot worse than some nicks and scrapes! Hell, what would happen if you'd broken something?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't happen," Sam said shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

The reaction made Dean raise an eyebrow at him. "It doesn't matter? Dude, of course it does," he blurted out. "So what if it didn't happen. You're just freakin' lucky! What about next time you do something insane like that?"

Sam sighed and shrugged. "Look, it really doesn't matter. Just drop it. Please?"

Dean shook his head. What kind of person didn't care enough about himself to make such reckless moves like that? Dean refused to just drop it. He got up and walked over to Sam, intent on making him see reason. Sam just looked at him warily, unconsciously leaning away as Dean took hold of his arm. He gripped Sam's hoodie and pulled it up to show him the wounds he had received from crashing into his Impala and scold him for his recklessness in a mother hen manner that his own mom would have done if Dean had done the same thing to her car. What was revealed shocked him from his thoughts.

There wasn't a single mark on Sam's stomach where Dean was sure there had been just a few hours ago. "What the h-hell?" Dean said in awe as he reached slowly to touch Sam's abdomen. Had he been in his right mind, his action would have shocked him. "You had scrapes and cuts and bruises all over. I saw them earlier! What the hell, man?"

Sam sighed and pulled Dean away from him, the sweater tumbling back down to cover his exposed flesh again. "Like I said earlier, it really doesn't matter because I can heal fast."

"No shit," Dean said bitterly as he reluctantly took a step back to give Sam more space. "What else can you do? Just so, you know, I don't get any more unexpected surprises."

"Nothing else. I swear. Well, aside from the wall I built up around my mind but I'm sure you already know that by now."

"Yeah, right, that. How can I forget you've got the Great Wall of China in that ginormous head of yours?"

Sam gave a bitter laugh. "Right. 'Great Wall of China'. Good one, man."

"Wasn't meant to be a joke but whatever, I'm a comedian even when I don't want to be."

"Sorry. Look man, can we just get back on track here? I know this is such a homely room and all but well, we don't have much time. I didn't exactly pay to stay here for long. We gotta get moving as fast as possible so I gotta hurry you through everything."

Dean sighed and grumbled, "This wasn't how I planned my morning."

"Yeah, sorry about that, man," Sam said looking completely unapologetic. "Look, uh, how much do you know about 'AHR'?"

"AHR? You mean that new feminist movement 'Activists for Human Rights'?" Dean frowned not seeing what that had to do with anything they had been recently discussing.

Sam sighed yet again and Dean was beginning to hate that sound now. He shook his head like Dean didn't have a clue on what he was talking about. "It's not exactly a feminist movement, Dean."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"It's a government act," Sam said simply which confused Dean even more. "On the outside it looks like another 'equal rights' movement but it's really from the government."

"OK. So?"

"And the government knows about us, Dean. Us, as in Psychics. They've known for months now."

Dean felt his eyes widen as he started to understand what Sam was trying to explain. He slumped down against the wall as Sam nodded like he knew exactly what was going through Dean's mind. "There's a war coming. It's us against them, Dean."

"Son of a bitch," Dean moaned wishing Sam wasn't telling him all this, wishing he wasn't here, wishing Sam had never crashed into his life because now, he realized, his old life was over and his fugitive life was just beginning.